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| The Porcupine - an excellent lunch |
I was reminded of this on Saturday – a day which for two very different reasons I do not think I will forget. An increasingly painful day turned out to be one of those days when I saw something that truly was "awesome", "amazing" and "great" - and so very memorable.
Pat and I were visiting our son and his family near Maidenhead. We had decided to take advantage of our proximity to London to go up to London to the theatre and had managed to get tickets to see the wonderful classical actor Simon Callow perform his one man show retelling Dickens’ Christmas Carol. I am a great fan of Simon Callow - his wonderful melodious voice, I swear could make the telephone directory sound like great literature. But he is more than that - much more. He has a commanding stage presence and yet a great humanity - and the result is that no matter what the part he slips into it's like slipping into a well worn shoe. He has such a feel for the language and the character that he makes every character he plays utterly believable.
Unfortunately we got off to a bad start – I woke up on Saturday
morning in severe pain from sciatica – a condition that I occasionally suffer
from. However, we set off but as the pain got worse I began to question the
wisdom of this decision! With the help of my walking stick and a lot of difficulty,
we managed the packed underground stations and eventually found ourselves at
Leicester Square. It was a matinee performance so we thought we would have some lunch in London and then go to the theatre just off Leicester Square. By the time that we arrived at the theatre I was desperate to find
somewhere where I could sit down for a good period to ease my back and leg
pain! We were in luck – within yards of the underground station and virtually
opposite the theatre we found a very pleasant pub – The Porcupine - where we
had a lovely lunch and were able to sit and relax a little. After lunch, and by
now I was in some agony, we crossed the road to the theatre. As we sat in our
seats waiting for the show to begin I took two more painkillers and began to
think maybe we should have gone home. Fortunately, the seat was comfortable and
my pain eased a little..........and, at
last, the lights dimmed in the little theatre and Simon Callow shuffled onto
the dimly lit and bleak set.
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| The Arts Theatre |
And from the moment Callow appeared and opened his mouth I
sat entranced, my pain all but forgotten as I watched – sometimes open mouthed,
always immensely moved at this great, great actor retell Dickens’ wonderful
tale. Callow is not only a great actor but a great lover of Dickens – to simply
hear his rich and constantly changing voice repeat Dickens’ great words is to
hear the very best of our language. To have been privileged enough to have sat
for an hour and a half in that theatre and watch this man, totally alone and
with no technological aids or the razzmatazz so often associated with so much theatre and film today retell, with gentle humour,
passion, humility and immense tenderness the story of Ebenezer Scrooge was
quite humbling. Every one of the three or four hundred people in that packed
theatre knew the story as well as I and, I guess like me, knew many of the
words – but we all saw the characters and the story with new insight on Saturday
afternoon and we all hung on every single word uttered by Callow. For ninety
minutes the whole audience sat mesmerised and in awe of this performance – our
attention never wavering one millimetre – as Callow’s words, expressions,
gestures, stagecraft, body language, wonderful voice and command drew us into
the world of Dickens. We were no longer in a 21st century theatre in
the busy West End but had been transported, as surely as Ebenezer Scrooge was
transported by the spirits who visited him, to the dimly lit back streets and alley ways of Victorian
London. We were present with Scrooge as we peeped into poor home of Bob
Cratchit; we were afraid, as was Scrooge, when Callow invoked the ghost of
Jacob Marley; we were joyful with Scrooge when he realised the error of his
ways. We watched in awe as Callow effortlessly slipped from one character and
into another – one second he was grasping, withered Ebenezer and in the twinkle
of an eye changed to be Scrooge’s jovial, loving nephew. Then he was a spectre
guiding and terrifying Scrooge as they visited Christmases past, present and
future – and next Tiny Tim or Mrs Cratchit carrying in the Christmas pudding "her face flushed but smiling proudly"! At once he was Mrs Fezziwig, dancing with his wife and then Bob Cratchit plaintively and overwhelmingly sadly describing Tiny Tim's final resting place. We all laughed and our minds eye saw the London ragamuffin gazing up at Scrooge's window that Christmas morning as Scrooge called down to the lad "What's to-day, my fine fellow" and we all "saw" the great turkey hanging in the poulterers window. Callow's magic ensured that we inhabited Scrooge's miserable rooms and we could almost taste the "speckled cannon ball" of a Christmas pudding that Mrs Cratchit proudly bore. He was these people, he took us to these places – we were
there with him - he made Dickens' words and Dickens' world real!
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| Callow in the Programme |
And, as Callow spoke the great words, their great
message of love for mankind, became clear to us. This was not just a nice Christmas story - it had a message and Callow brought it to life with force, energy and great insight and no little humour. When Jacob Marley ruefully and pitifully confesses to Scrooge that he wears his chains because of
the selfish life he had led and says “Business!
Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy,
forebearance and benevolence, were, all my business. The dealings of my trade
were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business.......why
did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down........” Callow and Dickens together pricked all our consciences. This was a message as
relevant today as it was in Dickens’ time. If Dickens were alive today he could
and would write every bit as sad and piercing indictment of Britain (and maybe much of the western world) as in his day. And Callow took us all to that world – a
world we had all read about before but never actually visited – until Saturday
afternoon.
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| He held us in his palm! |
In his programme notes, Simon Callow gave us a little peep into Dickens’ the man and the story of his writing A Christmas Carol. Dickens’ said that he “wept and laughed and wept again” as he wrote the tale. He knew
that what he was writing was extraordinary and when he finished he underlined
the words The End three times. The
moment the book went on sale its first print run of 6000 sold out immediately
as did the next two runs. Praise for the tale was overwhelming and from every
level of society. Lord Jeffrey said “(it) had
done more good “than all the pulpits and confessionals in Christendom” Thackeray
said “it is a national benefit and to
every man and woman who reads it a personal kindness”. Callow commented “A Christmas Carol is many things – a ghost
story, a parable about a man forced to face truths about himself, a realistic
picture of social life, a celebration of Christian ideals – but at its heart is
a frightening vision of abandoned, half human children – Ignorance and Want –
that should make us shiver just as it did the prosperous Victorian
classes......Dickens was not making this up; he had, on his ceaseless
wanderings through the East End seen such children; he had given them money,
held them in his arms, ensured they were provided for.....Dickens being
Dickens, his story was no dry analysis of social conditions; he dramatised the
whole ugliness of crude capitalism in the character of Scrooge – “a squeezing,
wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner”........a sort of
pioneer Thatcherite, believing there is no such thing as society and that the
right place for the poor is the workhouse or the prison.”
This was, at one level a truly great bit of theatre; at another level a telling indictment of the times in which Dickens’ and we live; at another level it was simply a wonderful reminder of the richness depth of both Dickens and the English language and literature. And in Callow’s hands he light heartedly but forcefully reminded us all of the inner message Dickens was sending to his fellow Victorians. I have absolutely no doubt that if Dickens were gazing down on that little theatre on Saturday afternoon he would have so approved of what Callow presented and reminded us of.
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This was, at one level a truly great bit of theatre; at another level a telling indictment of the times in which Dickens’ and we live; at another level it was simply a wonderful reminder of the richness depth of both Dickens and the English language and literature. And in Callow’s hands he light heartedly but forcefully reminded us all of the inner message Dickens was sending to his fellow Victorians. I have absolutely no doubt that if Dickens were gazing down on that little theatre on Saturday afternoon he would have so approved of what Callow presented and reminded us of.
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| The First Edition in 1843 |
I have always loved to watch and listen to Callow – now, as
the afternoon ended, I was quite overwhelmed – as were so many in the audience.
When the tale ended and Callow uttered the words we all knew he would utter at
the end “He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total
Abstinence Principle, ever afterwards; and it was always said of him, that he
knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May
that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God
bless Us, Every One!” the audience erupted as one. Yes, a standing
ovation took place but that does not tell the full story or come close to describing the warmth and
approval of us all. Every member of that audience knew they had witnessed something special and had been privileged. Every person knew that not only had they seen a very special talent but had also been in the presence of a very great actor and very special human being. Callow stood there, erect, taking his bow, surrounded by
the six old wooden chairs, the little fire and the old raincoat that had been
his only props as he had strutted about that stage. Everything we had "seen" - the Cratchit's Christmas pudding, the spectres who visited Scrooge, the gravestone on which was writ "Ebenezer Scrooge", the great turkey that Scrooge sent to the Cratchit's, the merrymaking at Mr Fezziwig's, and the rest we saw because Callow and Dickens together painted them in our minds - they were word pictures and all the more powerful for it than mere stage props.And as he bowed again and
again I could only wonder at how much a performance like that must take out of
him and how can he reproduce it performance after performance. It makes the
utterances about “pressure” that we hear from top soccer players, and the like,
who play only one game or maybe two a week be seen for what they are pathetic
moans. And I wondered at what makes true greatness? Here was a man who really
can be described as amazing or great. Here was an event that will live long in
the memories of all who sat there – truly “awesome”, quite unforgettable.
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| My damp marked book - illustrations by John Leech the first illustrator of A Christmas Carol |
And today, as I sit at home nursing my painful back, I think
again and again how glad that I am that we didn’t return home on Saturday when my back was so painful - that
we struggled on to the theatre to witness Callow’s performance. A painful but
wonderful and lasting experience. In the programme there is a quote from the Daily
Telegraph review of the show. It is exactly right: “Beautiful and magical. There will be bigger, flashier shows on offer
this Christmas, but none, I suspect, that will leave one quite so warmed and
moved as this one”. Amen to that.
I have just I have looked again at one of the bits of my past – my copy of the Dickens’ “Christmas Books” – including the great “Christmas Carol” In the front cover my name is written in my child-like curly handwriting when I was twelve. The book was a Christmas gift from my mother – “25.12.57” – my childlike hand has inscribed in the front. I can still today remember opening that book all those years ago and reading the opening words: “Marley was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about that.........”.
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| 25.12.57 |
I can still vividly remember sitting under the little Christmas tree that stood each year on our sideboard, the coloured lights above my head, reading the words and looking at the pictures. I didn’t know then that the pictures were exactly those used in the very first edition of the book in 1843 – drawn by the Victorian caricaturist John Leech. I didn’t dream that nearly sixty years later I would sit in a London theatre and watch one of the country’s greatest actors declaim those great words or that I would still gain such huge pleasure from the words and the story – that surely is a mark of greatness. The pages now are a little faded and with damp marks. But as I flick them near to my nose I can smell the smell of years past – taking me back in time. I can still smell the faint smell of cigarettes (my father and mother were both heavy smokers) that permeated the book as it sat on the shelves in their house – and now in mine. It smells of Christmases past – a reminder to me of what has gone before. Each time I open it and read the opening words, I cannot resist sniffing the pages – they evoke such memories of my own Christmases past.
What
a heritage Dickens has left us – and after Saturday afternoon a whole new layer
has been added to my understanding of his great tale – thanks to a truly "great", "fantastic" and "awesome" actor – Simon Callow.
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